


The Defeat of the Will

by Minyron



Series: From Hell we come, to Hell we go [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, BAMF Lydia Martin, Battle of Berlin, Blood, Blood Drinking, Character Death, Cold War, Colonel Peter Hale, Communism, Emotional Hurt, Fascism vs Communism, German Theo Raeken, Internalized Misogyny, Love/Hate, M/M, Mentions of Auschwitz, Murder, Nazi Werewolves, Nazism downfall, Polish Jew Stiles Stilinski, Polish Stiles Stilinski, Prisoner of War, Racism, Red Army, Russian Lydia Martin, Russian liberation of Berlin, Sniper Lydia Martin, Soldier Derek Hale, Soldier Jackson Whittemore, Torture, Twisted, Vampire Lydia Martin, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Vampire/Werewolf sex, Vampires, Werewolf Theo Raeken, Wolf Theo Raeken, Xenophobia, character evolution, emotional struggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyron/pseuds/Minyron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles meets an unlikely ally, and Theo joins the Germans' last resistance against the Red Army.</p><p>As Berlin falls and an era comes to an end, what will stand amidst the ruins is uncertain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Defeat of the Will

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleska/gifts).



> So this series comes to an end. Thanks to everyone who lent inspiration and support :) it's very motivating.
> 
> Same warnings apply as for Ignominious. 
> 
> Here are some pictures that I think are neat for the topic at hand:
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Stiles got a shotgun and went to the outskirts of Auschwitz. Close to railroad tracks, on the perfect spot on a hillside, he awaited stealthily. And eventually, the Germans came. Many of the people he’d been with in camp marched West, the ones that had been with his father too; at least those that remained alive. As he hid in the shadows of an early dusk, he came to terms with the reason he was there. If the Germans believed it was their mission to rid the world from the lesser races, he’d make it his own to rid the world from the likes of those monsters. No matter the cost.

After all, what else could he lose?

Those that couldn’t walk were shot, even those that fell out of step. They were only given food when they stopped, as the sun sank under the horizon. He noticed someone he knew among the prisoners. It was Elijah, stealing an old woman’s loaf of bread to sate his hunger. Something stirred inside Stiles, and he quickly decided on a course of action.  

He shot Elijah first, placing the few German soldiers with the group on alert, nervously trying to find out who had been killed and locate the origin. There weren’t many. Equally cold-blooded, he fired again, this time killing one of the soldiers. While he was reloading, he watched the remaining soldiers scatter, leaving the prisoners free. For the bad form they were all in, with no surveillance, they quickly clumped in small groups and disappeared into the countryside.

Stiles let out a sigh, looking at the East. The intense blackness felt soothing, and he could anticipate something coming. He went down the hill, to face what he’d done.

*

Stiles had taken his first lives, and he felt nothing, like it was the natural thing to do. Like it _meant_ nothing. Like he could do it a million times, and he still wouldn’t feel a thing, and he wondered if this was it. If he was already a monster.

“You shot one of your own”, a voice said, in Polish.

Stiles hadn’t heard spoken Polish in months. The accent wasn’t perfect, but it tried. Still, the voice was too sharp, something lurking below its superficial charm.

When he got a look at the source, though, he noticed the charm was far from superficial. It did not feel natural either, and his senses warned him for something he no longer cared for. Survival. Barely a black silhouette in the night, the ethereal beauty stared back at him.

“You shot one of your own”, his companion repeated, “ _why_?”

“He deserved to die”, Stiles supplied sincerely, not flinching one bit. He kept staring, curious.

The scoff sounded almost playful.

“I’ve been following you for days”, the dark form confessed then.

Stiles didn’t reply, looking at the ground. Somehow, the presence from the East hadn’t all been in his head. He’d attributed it to the imminent arrival of the Russians, which signified the fall of the Reich, but obviously there was something more to it.

 “You can join me, become one with the night. We’ll crush the fascists together, and I’ll unleash your true potential. I’ll show you the things you can do, things beyond your wildest imagination.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows, locking his gaze with distant grey eyes. There was only honesty in them, a connection that couldn’t be fully expressed with words.

“What’s the price?”, he asked, turning his body to face her.

“There’s no going back, when it’s done. You’ll never be fully human again”, the voice warned.

“Then it’s already done”, Stiles replied roughly.

A nod, followed by the hint of fangs, before he heard a hiss. He gasped, motions too sudden and the night too dark when she leapt at him. Before Stiles realized, there was hot blood running down his neck, and his grip loosened until the shotgun fell on the grass.

He was exsanguinated. But he was reborn, because he was unbound to old blood.

*

Three months later, on April 20th 1945, the Battle of Berlin began when Stalin’s generals closed in on the capital. Reinhardt Raeken cursed at the Russians, who had started no less than on the Führer’s birthday, and sent Theo to the Last Battalion’s front with a farewell hug. The man himself had been chosen amongst others to have a place in the Führerbunker, with the likes of the Goebbels family and Eva Braun. And, most importantly, the Führer himself. He hadn’t argued, instead taking pride in his son being the last defense at the heart of Germania. There wasn’t a nobler, trying task for a man, and it’d show his true character.

Theo had hardened since January, not spilling a single tear again. He shielded himself with their ideology, and turned his hesitation into faith and his fears into courage. Berlin had to be defended from being raped by the red beasts. When he joined the fight, he felt destined to do it. They fended off the first Russian vanguards, too brave and ignorant of what the Germans had on store. For all he liked weapons, nothing beat the feeling of clawing out the throat of an enemy of the People, the coppery tang of blood filling the air. For all he liked to rush into occupied territory, and force the Communists to retreat, shifting into stealthy wolves was too useful to ambush them in their sleep. War was in his constitution.

But the Red Army was not on its own either. The East had borne its own nightmare, the one dangerous enough to haunt the Master Race, and it was only a matter of time they made an appearance.

Theo’s breathing hitched when he caught the first glimpse of her, only void reflected on grey eyes, the void of nothingness. Trying to stop the bleeding on his shoulder, he gritted his teeth when he realized he’d not been shot with a normal bullet. The burn of silver light up his nerves, and he wanted to tear his skin off at the pain. He commanded their retreat, desperate to escape the fire that filled the young woman’s eyes. She discarded her sniper rifle, coming towards them unfazed.

“ _Bitch_ ”, he blurted, running.

He heard the storm of steel and then felt it tone down when he shifted into full wolf form, escaping the flames that surrounded her.

Many of his men died that night in vain, and her wry smile haunted his dreams. 

*

Stiles did learn from Lydia, the now-feared vampire Soviet sniper, so much in so little time. He’d arrived with her for the Battle of Berlin, and stayed in the city since.

She found him on a building’s rooftop that night. He was crouching on the ground, where he petted Zamiel absent-mindedly. The cat had come with them from Poland, too, finding Stiles and staying by his side.

“I’ve found _him_ ”, she informed Stiles curtly, landing on the other side of the rooftop.

Zamiel looked up, and Stiles grimaced, having dreaded the moment. Lydia let out a sigh.

“You know, perhaps fate has seen it so that you two meet again. Your human life doesn’t matter anymore. You’re free now, from everything”, she went on, looking down at the devastated avenue. The burning ruins reflected on her eyes.

“I know I’m free from him”, Stiles replied, looking at her, as he let his guard off for the first time in so long, “but will I be free from myself, when we meet again?”

Lydia let out a laugh. Stiles knew that, in their own twisted world, it was no longer cruel.

“You still don’t realize the full scope your freedom, but you’ll get there with time. I guess there’s only one way for you to find out”, she supplied, shrugging.

He knew she was right, so he simply nodded at his maker again. He did feel distanced from his former self, just the continuity of memories, and the vessel that was his body. In a strange way, he also felt closer to authenticity, unbound from the norms of society and from feelings that had only given him misery in the past. He was just himself, not even human. Love, hate, pain; where he was now, they were the same, and perhaps that was the freest he could be.

Eerie excitement overtook him, as he handed the cat over to Lydia. He looked down at the Hell in the streets below. He knew that this time they were the gods, and the nether ones were the insects. Sentenced.

Stiles fought until dawn, leaving trails of wolves’ corpses on his path. He bore his fangs at the moon, splatters of blood contrasting against white skin, and he realized he’d never felt more alive than amidst death.  

*

The 2nd day of May of 1945 saw the Soviet flag weaving on top of the Reichstag. The fascist Reign of Terror in Europe was over, and Adolf Hitler had committed suicide before being captured. He had not surrendered.

The Last Battalion was defeated by the Russians, its last scattered units refusing to go down, lasting as long as the 8th of May. On the other hand, many German officers were eager to surrender, though not to the Russians. They escaped West in waves until the direst days of the Battle of Berlin. They left the condemned city to the Red Army, and its defenders doomed to perish protecting it. Their ideology went down the drain, and they knew there was no saving to be done anymore. Such was the plight of those in Berlin that one of its more fanatic subscribers, Magda Goebbels, still at the Führerbunker, killed her own children. She did it to protect them, and then committed suicide to protect herself from a new order. The triumph of the Communists over the heart of Germany, and all to come.

West was the American army, though, and it was eager to receive these _refugees_ from the Eastern front. German war prisoners were in a very precarious position. They not only had information regarding the War, which would be invaluable in the upcoming Trials, but also an interesting insight for the future of the United States and its relationships with the USSR.

“Here he is, my Colonel”, private Jackson Whittemore said, glancing sideways at Reinhardt Raeken, who stood uneasy, “He doesn’t speak English.”

“My nephew speaks German, though”, Peter Hale replied, smirking.

He coolly inspected the man, head to toe, before picking up the phone and dialing.

“Derek, one of Mengele’s colleagues is here”, he said, as they picked up at the other end of the line.

Reinhardt winced, clearly catching the name.

*

In late May, Berlin was well in the grip of the Communist army. Theo found himself captive. They’d taken them to an improvised camp in the middle of nowhere, barrens all around them, and a low fence keeping some of the last German soldiers inside. The chill of the night made him uncomfortable, yet he was too exhausted to do anything but let his consciousness come and go into a shallow, fitful sleep.

He could break out, but it just made no sense. More pain for nothing. What would he do then? They had lost, and it was over. The Russians had all those cursed silver bullets. All he did was stare with a blank expression, slumped against the cold metal. His pants were dirty from lying on the mud for days, his shirt ragged and bloody, hair disheveled.

All he could do was wait for his fate to meet him, and face it. He thought nothing else would matter, but he was wrong.  

Some hours later Theo heard voices in Russian getting into heated discussion, followed by a woman’s soothing voice, and then only silence. The fence opened, steps coming closer.

When he looked up, it was the last person he expected to see.

Stiles stared down at him, and he was so _changed_. His hair had grown the longest he’d seen yet, thought that wasn’t saying much. Skin too pale, gaze too dark, eyes shining bright red. He was wearing a German uniform, and Theo could tell Stiles could perfectly have been the one to kill its former owner. He gulped, unable to look away from his vacant stare.

“How does getting out of here sound, German?”, Stiles mocked humorlessly.

*

Lydia tortured Theo for several nights, restraining his wrists with silver chains. She kept him close to her when they slept through the day, but kept a circuit running through him so that he couldn’t. His eyes were soon injected in blood. She prepared a silver colloid, spraying it over his bare upper body, and on his face too. The burning pain was soon unbearable, as his cries evidenced, and his healing was severely impaired. Theo spilled all the information she wanted.

She went on anyway. He wasn’t as tough as he believed himself to be. Sometimes he’d respond to her taunts, others all he did was cry in pain. He’d pathetically swing from cursing to begging.

“ _Please, I told you everything, please, stop, I beg of you_.”

“ _Fucking Russian bitch, I’ll shoot through your skull, I swear to God_.”

Lydia laughed at that one, amused by his innocence.

“ _I cannot die like that, honey. Unless you get a bazooka. And God has nothing on me._ ”

 Stiles sat impatiently in the next room, hearing Theo’s screams behind closed doors, biting his nails bloody. He knew it was not a torture meant for Theo, since Lydia was pretty joyless at unequal combat, but instead somehow a test for him. It was making him anxious.

 Next night he overheard Theo talking _lies_ , and the impulse to barge in was unavoidable. Stiles had to remind himself he no longer breathed, to stop the reflexive hyperventilation.

 Lydia looked at Stiles, taking a step back. She was twisting a special knife into Theo’s abdomen, leaving it there. She raised her eyebrows.

“You want to join? You heard that, right? He said he realized he loved you, after you left him”, Lydia repeated, tilting her head.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”, she said frowning, addressing Stiles too aggressively.

Stiles gritted his teeth, inexplicable anger rising up. He obviously wasn’t going to protect Theo, but Lydia was taking everything he’d said literally to piss him off. He was confused, though, because Theo did deserve to suffer. Whether he wanted it or not wasn’t relevant. He’d _told her_ he wanted.  He’d been so _sure_.

Stiles looked at Theo, and saw his face in an ugly expression, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I missed your birthday”, Theo said, obviously delirious.

 “I’m so sorry”, Theo croaked then, looking at him with that same vulnerability he’d seen before. It affected Stiles.

Stiles tried to respond, but it caught on his throat. He rushed out of the room too fast, breaking the door in the process.

Lydia hummed to herself.

*

“It’s okay”, Lydia said, looking at Stiles from above, “to feel. Perhaps we’re not of this world anymore, but we’re still here. We _are_ here.”

He was lying on the rooftop, stargazing. His mother been the one to show him the constellations, and he used to find them beautiful and mesmerizing, so mysterious. The stars were still there, but those feelings were long gone.  

He stood up, sighing. Lydia crossed her arms, expectant.

“I want him. I want to drink from him so fucking much”, he finally confessed, looking at her doe-eyed.

Lydia smiled at him, the same contentedness she always showed when he took steps in the directions she knew he would. He hated that he loved it, their unlikely kinship grounding his world.

“Not yet”, she said.

*

“It has come to my knowledge you have Reinhardt Raeken in your custody”, Lydia said in English, looking straight at Peter Hale.

Stiles was by her, looking at the two soldiers at the end of the corridor. They’d started walking towards them, and soon they arrived and placed themselves behind Colonel Hale, one on each side. The one with the scruff and dark hair seemed disconcerted by Stiles, but when Stiles got bored of the admixture of pity and apprehension on his look, he ignored him. The one with the sharp angles and perfect hair was checking Lydia out, and it made his blood boil. _Hale_ and _Whittemore_ , their names read. He had zoned out, but looked at Lydia again when she spoke.

“If you have something that belongs to us, then I expect you to be reasonable”, she said methodically, though Stiles knew it meant she was irritated.

Before Peter Hale could reply Whittemore said something to him in English, eliciting a laugh from him. Lydia rolled her eyes, and he didn’t have a lot of trouble guessing. He already hated the guy with all his guts for having just met him.

Peter said something else to Lydia, and she leaned into Stiles’s ear before replying. “ _He’s not used to women serving in the military, is curious, let’s try for this to go smoothly_ ”, she whispered.

“I’ve killed no men. Just fascists”, she said, and the younger Hale nodded in respect. Jackson just smiled, smug.

Peter said something else then, still amused, and Lydia’s mouth became a thin line. She turned around suddenly, calling for Stiles and already walking away.

“We’ll meet again, then”, she said out loud, in Russian, while Stiles eyed the three of them suspiciously, “and perhaps my answer will change.”

*

“Just wait here”, Stiles told Zamiel, patting his head, after Lydia had already gone inside with Theo.

Apparently Hale had not accepted to hand Reinhardt over, so they broke into their quarters that very night. Stiles scoffed as they knocked two other soldiers unconscious; lucky for them, they could get into the ventilation system and directly into the room. And do so without getting a lot of attention, which meant less bloodshed and inconvenience. Only the necessary.

The cat meowed back and climbed up a tree, staring at the sole lit window in the building.

*

Theo Raeken pointed at his father’s forehead with a revolver, the two of them alone. The man was sweating profusely, fear bleeding into his eyes.

Theo swallowed hard, the muscles on his hand too tight, but he had to.

“I’ve given you everything. You’re blood of the blood, how dare you?”, Reinhardt said in German.

“I’ve relinquished it”, Theo replied, and fired the gun. It was exhilarating.

*

Stiles appeared in the corridor where Jackson and Derek were watching over Reinhardt’s Raeken’s interrogation room. He strolled casually, not saying a word until Derek got too nervous and walked over to him, asking things in English. The soldier placed a warm hand on his shoulder, in a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring. Like he was some lost kid; though then again Jackson was already sending for someone to detain him for trespassing, so perhaps they weren’t too stupid.

Just stupid enough. He handed a piece of paper over to Derek, in English, written by Lydia. It was titled **_For Peter Hale_** , and left the younger Hale perplexed.

“ _Late in Normandy when we fought, fast in Germany when we struck, and late in Berlin when we won; but always behind._ _Uncle Joe sends his regards._ ”

Derek frowned as they heard gunfire from within the room. Before they could pull their guns out, Stiles hit them both in the head. They fell unconscious, and he sighed, feeling only a bit bad for Derek, and not bad at all for Jackson. At least private Hale looked peaceful.

Stiles opened the door to the room, and found Theo with the smoking weapon hanging low, in silent contemplation of his deed.  Lydia had already left, he learned. They got out through the window, fleeing into the night, before more soldiers swarmed their floor.

*

Stiles locked silver handcuffs around Theo’s wrists, enough to restrain him, and made him lie on his back on the bed. Both were completely bare. The room was dark, with only the full moon’s light drawing their shapes, although both could see in the dark. Its pull was so strong that the werewolf’s nails were already raking the wood, and clawing into the mattress. His fangs protruded from his mouth as he stared up at Stiles, hungry.

Stiles pushed him down; palms open on top of his chest, feeling Theo’s labored breathing. Perhaps he was pressing too strongly, but he didn’t care. He laughed instead.

“Just so you know, I actually died before my birthday.”

Theo let out a deep breath, nodding.

“Say it, Theo”, Stiles urged, tongue darting out to wet his lips, as hungry.

“Drink from me, have my blood, please”, Theo begged shyly.

“Wreck me, Stiles”, Theo said, and swallowed hard.

Stiles leaned down, his breath ghosting over Theo’s jugular. Theo’s breathing caught on his throat when Stiles raked his chest with blunt nails, hands then traveling up. He ran his thumb over Theo’s neck, following the cords too softly.

Stiles gasped, looking down at him as his eyes flashed red. He was voracious, but instead of complying, he lined himself up and sank down on Theo’s erection. Stiles steadied himself, grabbing him by the shoulders, as both let out twin sounds of relief.

He rode Theo, making him come undone with the roll of his hips. Stiles was focusing on his own pleasure, though, enjoying his newfound freedom. He believed he understood now, the actual ecstasy of liberation, as he found the perfect angles and adjusted the pressure just to what he liked. He loved feeling full, that hadn’t changed. When Theo came, unable to hold it in, Stiles felt satisfied. The effect he had on Theo hadn’t changed, either. But he could have more, so he did. He kept riding Theo through his refractory period, loving the way he gritted his teeth, helpless, sensations too much to bear.

Stiles didn’t stop until he came himself, come landing in spurts on Theo’s face, his chest, and his collarbones. Stiles leaned down and licked it clean, lavishing the skin with his tongue. He ended up sucking a spot on Theo’s neck, making him moan and scream, completely pliant to his ministrations.

Then, finally, he bit down. Blood gurgled from Theo’s jugular, the taste so rich on his tongue that Stiles thought he wouldn’t ever get enough. It pooled below them, but he didn’t care. It was everything he’d desired for and more, and he found bliss. He lost track of the passing time.

When he managed to stop, Stiles licked his lips, and looked at Theo mesmerized. He was far from quenching his thirst, but Theo was already shivering, a thin layer of sweat covering his body. Still, he stared back at Stiles, a longing in his expression, and he knew it was the time.

Stiles raised his arm to bite his own wrist, puncture wounds dripping black blood. Theo followed them with his eyes, light-headed, until Stiles’s forearm was hovering over his head. Some of the drops fell on his cheeks, burned though they were cold. Theo felt feverish, and he extended his tongue into the damp air, thirsty for what Stiles would give to him.

He’d take anything.

“Our bloods will be entwined”, Stiles warned, no longer a question.

“Yes”, Theo replied breathless, as a faint blue glow shone in his eyes.

He drank, and the night was theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed this. Wrapping their relationship up to an ending I considered appropriate was a challenge. There were many new characters and roads to take, but I ultimately went for staying true to the Steo in the narrative.
> 
> Edit: there's an elaboration on the Theo/Lydia nights: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5563315


End file.
